She smiles.
“Another bite, then?”
She takes another lick, until she gets to the layers of chocolate cake with chocolate cream, and she bites it. Her lip’s coated in the creamy concoction when she looks at me. We’re so close, her breath warms my cheek. I lick the chocolate off her lip, suckling the chocolate right off her.
She sighs, moaning into me as I lean in to give her a kiss.
We play this game for a while until the trifle’s half gone.
“Next, the mousse.”
“Mmm,” she whispers. “The mousse.”
I nestle the half-eaten trifle back in the box, then remove the white paper flute of mousse.
“Lick this, too?” she asks.
“Oh aye,” I whisper. “I want to see you do it.”
I’ve forgotten who we are, or why we’re here, and anything that is going to happen next. All that I can think about is watching her tongue dart out and lick the decadent treat. All I can think about is where else that tongue could be.
I’m not breathing when she laps her tongue around the very edge of the swirls of mousse, the tip dragging along while she releases a moan. Ohfuckis that hot. I’m shaking my head, watching her as she laps at the treat, the fluffy dessert on her lips, and at the corner of her mouth.
I take it away from her, and she blinks in surprise.
“Hey! I wasn’t quite done with?—”
I silence her while I lay her out on her back, my mouth on hers capturing the sweet, rich flavor of chocolate mingled with the soft, sensual touch of her tongue against mine. I run both of my hands up and down the length of her body, pressing my erection hard against her belly.
I fucked her not half an hour ago and I’m ready to go again, to lay her down and make her come in every fucking way possible. My tongue between her legs, my fingers in her pussy, fucking her perfect, pert little arse until she screams.
Her hands are around the back of my neck, scrambling for purchase as we drown in this kiss, the dessert forgotten, when her bag starts to buzz.
Fuck.
I know exactly what call she's going to get. I know what’s going to have to happen next, what I have to do. But I already fucking regret it. I don't like knowing that I'm manipulating the situation. I don't like knowing that I'm responsible for even the tiniest bit of fear she's going to feel. I don't like knowing that I'm going to be the one that rescues her, because I don’t want it to be a farce when I do.
Her hands on the back of my neck still, and she pulls away with a groan.
“I have to get that.Fuck.”
I force a sigh of reluctant agreement, even though the reluctance bit isn’t part of the routine at all.
“It’s alright,” I say, gesturing to the phone. A part of me hopes that I'm wrong, that this isn't the phone call I'm anticipating. A part of me hopes that she misses it, that we can go back to being who I want to be when I'm with her. Both of us, together, fucking enjoying ourselves for once.
But when she picks up the phone, I know that every hope is in vain.
She stares at the text, her hand wrapping around her chest as if to cover herself. I don’t even know if she does it on purpose, or if there’s something about the reminder of her father that makes her feel as if she needs to hide.
“I have to call him,” she says on a sigh. “I’m so sorry, Mac, he says it’s urgent. And if my mum’s hurt again?—”
She dials, and I steel myself for what has to happen next.
I watch as that sweet pucker forms between her brows again, her lips pressed in a thin line of worry. “Hello? Aye, Dad, I’m fine, are you?”
Her face is steely, her body wound tight as she waits for him to deliver the news. “Oh. Oh, dear,” she whispers. “My bodyguard? Aye, he’s nearby.” She bites her lip and gives me a panicked look. I reach for her hand, giving her a little squeeze, playing the part of the supportive bloke… but Jesus, that’s exactly what she needs right now, exactly whatIdo too.
“Is everyone alright?” She’s nodding, even though he can’t see. She shakes her head from side to side, and for some reason turns away from me. She rises, and reaches for a folded blanket, gray velour, that hangs on the back of the couch. “Just a minute, Dad.”
